


The Full Tour

by redscudery



Series: Scudery's Saturday Night Fic Fest [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Casual Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Military Kink, Military Ranks, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Possibly Unrequited Love, Rough Sex, Top John, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinka requested (demanded?) "john/corporal lyons fic where john goes on a date with lyons and they have a one night-stand"</p><p>And that's what this is. Straight-up smut, with a smiling, Top!John taking young Corporal Lyons to pieces.  There is a hint of jealous Sherlock in the background, but it needs no attention paid to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Full Tour

 

 

Discouraged by his failure with Dr. Mortimer, John leaves the pub. Sherlock can bloody well sulk alone. 

He’s taken two steps round the corner when he runs into a solid wall of human. 

“Bugger!”

Angry human, he thinks, an angry human that’s not Sherlock. What a novelty.

“Sorry, mate, just … oh!” 

Well, it’s a human that’s angry because of Sherlock. Not much better.

“Lyons. Corporal Lyons, isn’t it?” 

The handsome face is blank for a moment, then angry again.

“You! Do you know how much paperwork I’ve had to do because of you…  sir ?” Lyons draws out the silence before the ‘sir’ with low menace.

“You had to file three reports, maybe about seven hundred words total. It’s hardly John’s fault you’re a worse typist than he is.” Sherlock’s voice slides out of the darkness, and Lyons recoils.

“I don’t have to listen to this!” he exclaims, angrily.

“You certainly don’t want to. You want to go to the pub, get rat-arsed, and go home with the first halfway attractive person that will suck you off.” 

Both Lyons and John are floored by this last, Lyons because it’s true, and John because the words ‘suck off’ coming out of Sherlock’s mouth are unexpectedly arousing. He shifts to look at Sherlock, but the great git is still hiding in the shadows. 

“Come on, John, let’s go.  Mister Lyons wants to get started before his cheap aftershave wears off.”

“Go home, Sherlock.” John is not quite inclined to leave with him, not yet. It has nothing—well not quite nothing—to do with the handsome corporal.

Sherlock had said “person”, though, hadn’t he?

“I wouldn’t, John.” 

“I know you bloody wouldn’t!” If he would, John thinks, I wouldn’t be standing here half hard after one little obscenity from that ridiculous mouth.

“I’m leaving, anyway, and you two gentlemen can argue in peace,” Lyons snaps.

“Oh, we’re finished.” Sherlock says, and walks away, his steps echoing down the street.

John blinks, then decides. Why the fuck not, after all?

“Look, sorry about him. Can I buy you a drink? Make up for the rudeness of his Majesty over there.”

Lyons considers him for a moment, shoulders squaring again as he remembers the afternoon. 

“I won’t tell you anything.”

“We’ll drink silently.”

“About work, I mean.” There’s a boyish break in Lyons’ voice as he says this, and John permits himself a slight grin. It’s been a while since he’s picked up a man, but this will be good practice.

Well, practice. Fish in a barrel really, since Sherlock’s handed the evening to him on a silver platter, but given the quality of the fish, John isn’t going to complain.

He takes Lyons in again. In his uniform, the kid had been stiff and crisp, his back ramrod straight, his face decided. In civvies, he looks smaller but no less beautifully proportioned or graceful. He walks a little stiffly still, but John has a sudden flash of what he might look like, nude and relaxed, and, with what he hopes is a nonchalant face, attunes his step to Lyons’ and heads back to the pub.

—————

A couple of pints in, Lyons is sprawled loosely in his chair. John has drunk more slowly; he’s still nursing his first as he listens to a fairly funny story about Lyons’ first commanding officer and watches Lyons relax.

“…and he could never stand to be contradicted, you know, so one day, after we’d arsed up yet another gun drill, he shouted ‘I’m about as effective as a limp dick, I see!’ and the entire section yelled ‘Yes SIR!’ I thought he’d have an aneurysm right there.” Lyons shakes his head. 

“Ah, yes, the obligatory impotent sergeant,” John says, “There’s always one.”

“I don’t mind saying, sir…John,” Lyons says, suddenly a little awkward, “I had you mentally cast as the impotent sergeant this morning.”

“Thankfully, I lack the main characteristic.”

“Impotence?” Lyons flushes.

“Being a giant arsehole.” John’s voice is deliberately dry, and he succeeds in making Lyons throw his head back and laugh. The skin of his throat is golden, and a small twist of chest hair is visible at the vee of his white shirt. His faded Levis cling to his thighs, and though John knows that the bulge between them doesn’t really indicate much in terms of, er, effective size, it’s a sight to see anyway. 

“Another pint, Will?” 

“Sure,” Lyons says, and drains what he’s holding.

This is the last one, John thinks, before Lyons’ll be too pissed to say ‘yes’. His blood fizzes a bit at the challenge. 

“Ta,” Lyons says, “So why is a non-arsehole like you hanging around Sherlock Holmes?” John flinches.

“The challenge, I guess. He’s not such an arsehole as he looks, and he’s brilliant.”

“You two…you’re not…?”

“Nah,” John looks into Lyons’ eyes and almost doesn’t blink, “he doesn’t do much in that line, or so he’s given me to understand. He does need me, though. I make him look good. Taller.”

Lyons laughs. 

“You’re the wingman.”

“Not always.” John leans forward and puts his hand on Lyons’ knee. Lyons drops his eyes for a moment, but not before John sees the flash of desire, “I’m also not impotent.”

“You’re also at least halfway attractive.” Lyons says, emboldened.

“So what are you waiting for?”

“You to tell me whether it’s yours or mine.” 

“Yours. Not sure you’d like the traffic patterns in mine.”

“Follow me, then,” Lyons says, then adds “Captain,” with a cheeky grin.

—————

They don’t touch on the short walk to Lyons’ flat, just walk. Lyons darts the occasional look at John, but John resists the temptation to return the favour. He isn’t quite sure yet who’s going to take whom apart, and he stays in the moment, relishing the possibilities. 

“Here we are,” Lyons breaks the silence as he shows John into a small, neat apartment.

“Very tidy,” John says. He feels Lyons hesitate behind him, and decides. Turning slowly, he backs Lyons against the wall.

“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s what you want.” 

“Yes.” 

Sherlock was wrong about one thing. Lyons doesn’t smell cheap. He smells like Ivory soap and sandalwood. He must be twenty-five, not so young as all that, but his skin is still silky, just a bit. There’s a surge of blood to John’s cock as he buries his nose in Lyon’s neck, breathes him in, then bites, right at the join of neck and shoulder. Lyons leans back and lets John taste him, before whispering “Harder.”

John obliges, bringing his teeth into play along that glorious skin, then pulls Lyons down to him and kisses him. It’s just a brush at first, knowing that what Lyons wants is to be pushed, to be handled hard. Lyons doesn’t disappoint; he bends his head down and tries to get closer. John dodges, instead rucking up the white t-shirt and running his thumbs over the swoop of Lyons’ obliques to the small of his back. Only when he lets out a shuddery breath does John let him crush their mouths together. He enjoys the urgency in the kiss without yet feeling it himself; he nips Lyons’ lip and rolls their clothed cocks together as Lyons makes a low noise. 

Then, after one last bite at the base of Lyons’ throat, John slides down his body. He kisses along the softness of Lyons’ belly, tastes the slight salt of his skin and the crispness of the slim line of hair that disappears into his waistband. He smells more like soap here; John thinks about how he must have looked in the shower, rubbing his soapy hand along his stomach and through his pubic hair, then caressing his cock and balls before rinsing. 

John pops the button, suddenly impatient. Lyons sighs in relief as he’s freed, and then again as John takes him smoothly into his mouth. 

“But..don’t you…” he stutters. John lets him go for a moment, licks his lips.

“You did want to meet someone who’d suck you off. And it seems like the least I could do.” He takes Lyons in again, the twitch and quiver of heavy flesh familiar on his tongue, and works his mouth down the shaft. He relishes the silky slide of skin, letting Lyons rock his hips just a little, until he’s almost impossibly hard and his balls are drawn up. John stands up and takes a step back to enjoy the results of his work. Lyons is flushed and panting, his head thrown back and his t-shirt rumpled. His jeans frame his erection, which is red and hard and wanting. 

“My turn?” Lyons asks breathlessly.

“If you like,” John says, though he is so hard in his own trousers it hurts, and even waiting for Lyons to kick off his jeans is torture. 

“Sit, then,” Lyons crowds against him and nips his earlobe, working his shirt buttons with trembling fingers. John shakes it off and pulls Lyons’ shirt off too; their skin collides as their mouths do, and John feels that kiss all over his body. Lyons’ fingers work their way along his ribs down to his arse, pulling him even closer for a moment before pushing him back to the couch. John snaps his fly button before he sits, pushes his jeans down while Lyons sinks to his knees.

Lyons runs his mouth along the outline of John’s erection. Even the light touch makes John’s cock jump, and he arcs his hips up in search of more. Lyons gives it to him, more, harder, with his hands on John’s inner thighs. Suddenly, John feels air on his cock, and then none. It’s almost shocking, the heat and the slickness, and he can’t hold back the sound he makes as he realizes that Lyons has swallowed him down. 

Wherever Lyons has learned this, he’s learned it well, and it’s only a few minutes before John has to stop him; none too gently, he pulls Lyons up to his lap. Lyons straddles him and kisses him, their cocks slick between them. The room smells of sex already. 

“Do you want to be fucked, Corporal, or are you still bent on being sucked off?” John asks.

“I…no…Fucked,” Lyons sighs, and John rewards him by wrapping his hand around their cocks and stroking. 

“You sure?” 

“Please.” John permits himself an inward grin. He loves it when they break down and beg, and, given Lyons’ stiff-necked behaviour earlier today, it’s especially nice.

“On your knees, then.” John tips him up and arranges him over the back of the couch, legs spread, then begins the business of taking him apart completely. 

“Lube?” 

“Drawer in the coffee table.”

“Goodness me, Lyons, you are well-equipped.”

“Preparation equals success.”

“How apropos,” John pours a little lube into his hand, and uses it to stroke Lyons’ cock, stopping when Lyons’ muscles tense. He cups Lyons’ balls in one hand, then works his way back, pressing and teasing, until he’s circling Lyon’s hole with his slick finger. He thinks longingly of leaning over to flick the pucker with his tongue, but, though he’d bet his left hand that Lyons is clean, it’s best not to chance it. Instead, he uses his thumb, teasing as best he can, until Lyons is pushing back against him.

It doesn’t take long for Lyons to open to him and to lose the power of speech; when John can tell that he’s all sensation, he stops. He pulls a condom from the drawer and rolls it on, then slowly, luxuriantly, takes himself in hand and coats his cock with lube. 

“Fast or slow?” he asks Lyons, though the head of his cock is already halfway in by the time he gets an answer, a murmured “oooh”. Lyons’ head is hanging down and he’s barely holding on. John pushes in further, lets the heat of Lyons’ arse engulf him. It’s been so long, too long, and he’s feeling the pull already, his orgasm gathering in his belly. He pulls out, the sweet drag of pressure sucking him in again, and focuses on hitting a rhythm- in, out, in. He knows he’s done it right when Lyons starts pushing back, hard; he reaches around and begins to stroke. Lyons starts to contract, and John takes him harder. He’s going to come too, now, any second, and as Lyons bucks his hips, he drives his cock solidly in and comes. The relief is quick and sweet and he shudders to a stop even as the last drops of Lyons’ semen fall on his hand. 

“Good,” Lyons mumbles, and rests his forehead on the couch cushions. John runs his hands along the defined muscles of Lyons’ back, then gives his hips a last pull before withdrawing. 

“Where…?”

“Here,” Lyons says, pointing. John cleans up, watching Lyons move, beautiful and loose, and is tempted to take him again, lick away the bitter come, suck his soft cock into his mouth and feel it harden by increments until he can’t take the whole thing anymore. 

“You staying?” Lyons says, as if reading his mind. 

“Till tomorrow,” John answers, and pushes any thought of Sherlock out of his mind.


End file.
